Violated.

The best part - the only part? - is that they won't know. No one will know, and it'll be a secret between the two of us. Something shameful, so she'll look the other way when I pass her table at mealtimes, and maybe I'll laugh louder than intended if she goes by.

The whole time, I waited for her to say something, to ask about the scars, since she drank in my vulnerability with hungry green-grey eyes. But she said nothing.

I wish she'd taken the breath to ask.

I wanted to tell her they were his marks, and maybe then she would have stopped.